


Coffee?

by Levists (Aris)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Anorexia, Eating Disorders, Gen, that's it that's the whole fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2014-03-24
Packaged: 2018-01-16 21:55:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1363135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aris/pseuds/Levists
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's not a man in the world who cares about Levi.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coffee?

Levi's not okay.

It's strange. Out of everyone in the office, those over and under him, Levi is the one Eren thinks about least. He's the chief editor, the one in charge, and he communicates via email and disapproving looks. It's easy to dismiss the sender, to focus on the message, and laughing in the staff kitchen is so much more memorable that a black-scripted name on a stark, white screen. Levi has his own office, separate from the chit-chat and hard typing of the segregated main office, and though its walls are glass the blinds are always down, or shuttered halfway, and not a trace of dark eyes or dark hair can be seen within. 

Eren thinks he should be more interested, more intrigued, by the man who perfects the paper everyday, who reviews his work and polishes his writing; but, at times, he utterly forgets his existence, the only reminder of it coming in the form of a whining Armin, hands full of coffee mugs, talk of 'no manners' and 'moody sod' babbling from him as he stacks cups on the side for the cleaners later. 

And that's why, at precisely 4:08pm on a Wednesday afternoon, it strikes Eren as rather odd that, a) Levi is _outside of his office_ and b) that Levi is _really not okay_. The cheap wooden door closes behind the short figure of the chief editor under Eren's somewhat shocked stare, and Levi steps forward, head tilted uncommitedly towards the kitchen. His fingers, lithe and long and spider-like, are wound around an empty mug, apparently the cause of his emergence, and the narcotised glaze to his eyes and ashen hue to his face make Eren's arms twitch to help him, support him. He reflects on his mother, thirty-nine and dying of cancer, the same brittle composure holding her just over the edge. The shade of death.

Levi's wrists are enchantingly slim, the bone a wicked protrusion - casting deathly shadows down the rest of his hand. The other components of his body are covered in a white button up and the expected black slacks, both working impressively to conceal his form, though nothing can completely hide the gap between each thigh, the exaggerated slimness of his sides. It's like watching a ghost, a holocaust survivor, float up the office, ignored and unseen by the rest of the workers. Eren's not entirely sure he's real, and he tears his eyes away, glancing back to the door he came from. Closed. Like always. 

He looks back to the kitchen, to the emaciated man passing through. He's never seen Levi out from behind his desk before, can't ever recall having actually seen him outside his office, and suddenly it seems all a bit too likely the skeleton just just passed him by definitely _was_ Levi.

Eren stands up.

In the kitchen area, Levi stands in front of Armin, hand with mug raised questioningly. Armin had that look on his face, the really worried one, and Eren really wishes he could help out. There's too much space where there shouldn't be, with Levi, and he can't stop staring, can't seem to tear his eyes away.

"I'm - I'm sorry. Really - I am! I must have forgot with the meeting and the - the... I can bring it to you now if you want?" Armin's stutter is profound, and a lesser man would have laughed at his for it. Levi, rather, shakes his head, and takes the job as his own.

"Don't worry. I think I'm capable of getting a drink myself." With the way his arms are trembling as he holds the coffee pot, strained and too pale, Eren somehow doubts it, "I was just wondering where you were. That's all." 

"It won't happen again! I promise, sir!" 

Black liquid spins into the cup, steam pours out. Eren realises he's never seen Levi eat. He wonders how many times he's laughed over a sandwich in this very kitchen while Levi nursed a coffee, sallow skinned and empty. There's an ache in his chest. Had no one noticed? There couldn't be a person in this office that had ever spoken to Levi, Armin aside.

The boy in question spits out a farewell, and is gone in seconds, shooting Eren wide, panicked eyes as he brushes past, two cups in hand. 

"Coffee?" Levi remains impassive, blank, and his fingers, elegant and rotting, gesture to an empty mug, clean on the counter. Coffee? What for? Breakfast? Lunch? Dinner? Instead, Eren says, "Yes, please," and Levi's torturous movements begin again; unsteady pouring, one hand clutching the handle too hard, a visible strain down his arm from lifting the coffee pot. It's almost as painful to watch as it must be to do. 

The drink is hot against his lips.

"Yeager, is it?" 

And he walks past, narrow hips and thin legs and a slight indent to an even slighter waist.

Eren opens his mouth to reply but -

He doesn't know his second name.

He doesn't know a damn thing.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm new to the fandom so I'm weaseling my way in small fic by small, pointless fic. 
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr](http://levists.tumblr.com/)


End file.
